


Woman's Need Calls Me

by Remeinhu



Category: Six - Marlow/Moss, Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Execution (averted), Gen, Need fills plot holes, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/non-con (discussed)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:01:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24113224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remeinhu/pseuds/Remeinhu
Summary: Tarma, Kethry, and Warrl have no earthly idea how they've ended up in this strange place. But before they can even get their bearings, Need pulls them towards the center of a city, racing to stop a very important execution...Queen Katherine Howard, meanwhile, has prepared herself to die. She has not, however, prepared herself for a warrior, a sorceress, and a giant wolf to burst onto the scene.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Woman's Need Calls Me

As was proving to be the case far too often, Tarma shena Tale’sedrin had absolutely no idea where the hell she, her partner, the mage Kethry, and her mindmate, the _kyree_ Warrl, were.

In many ways, it didn’t look too terribly different from a good sized city of the sort one might find in Rethwellan. True, it was perhaps a bit colder and wetter, but that wasn’t quite it. No, there was something just ineffably wrong about this place.

“How in the nine hells did we get here?” she asked the enormous wolf-like creature who stood by her battlemare’s flank.

 _:I fear I remember little more than you do,:_ Warrl replied. _:I know that we were traveling away from Mournedealth towards a line on a caravan job, and when the main road flooded we were forced to take a detour. I can only conclude we stumbled across a magical trap.:_ He laid his ears back in chagrin _. :Normally I am able to scent such things out. Perhaps some unfamiliar pollen fuddled my senses.:_

“Well, wherever we are, we’re right off the map, because no one here seems to recognize a White Winds traveling robe, let alone a Shin’ain Swordsworn. People are giving us a very wide berth.” She shook her head as a young woman stared at them, made something that seemed to be a warding gesture, and bolted in the direction she had come. “And they certainly don’t seem to have magic here, or else they’d have figured out a better way to manage their sewers.”

She turned to Kethry to ask if she had any way to help them get their bearings, but stopped when she saw a depressingly familiar look on her partner’s face.

“NO.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I’m afraid I am.” Kethry rubbed her temples. “And from the headache I’m getting, it’s major. If we don’t move fast, someone’s going to die.” She wheeled Ironheart around and the two were off like a shot, scattering pedestrians and carts in their wake.

Warrl barely had time to leap up onto the pad behind Tarma’s saddle before Hellsbane was matching strides with her herd-sister. Not, however, before Tarma had time to let out a creative stream of invective towards the blade her partner wore sheathed across her back. “UselessgoddessforsakenmotherlovinghunkofTIN!” she growled as the three of them pounded towards what seemed to be the center of the city.

—

Katherine Howard did not want to die today, but she had been given very little choice in the matter.

She’d barely slept, instead warily circling the block she had requested until fatigue overcame her revulsion and she was able to practice laying her head on the block to die as a queen should—slowly, steadily, with grace. As long as the windows remained dark, she could tell herself—not yet.

Now, however, a thin light streamed through the glass, and she could pretend no longer.

The door opened with a groan, and two armed guards entered the room. She met their eyes.

“Lady Howard?” one said. “It is time.”  
__

“ _Sheka_.” Tarma couldn’t believe what she was staring up at. “That ridiculous hunk of tin wants us to storm a fortress?!”

“So it would seem.” Kethry didn’t look particularly enthused either.

“How on earth are we going to pull this off?” She turned to Hellsbane and Ironheart. “Guard.” The mares immediately took up an alert stance; anyone trying to get past them would find their limbs broken very quickly indeed.

“Well, let’s see. Who looks like they’re supposed to be coming and going?”  
Tarma studied the figures flanking the gatehouse. “Knowing what little we do about this place, guards seem like the best bet. Can you work an illusion?”

Kethry grounded herself and searched for a ley-line. Her eyes widened. “ _She’endra_ , there’s so much blood-energy here you could level the city!”

Tarma blanched. “So that means…”

Kethry nodded. “First, you were right—these people don’t have magic, or a blood mage would have taken advantage of this long ago. That should make getting in a bit easier, at least. Second, we’ve got to move. I think we’re here to stop an execution.”

__

Katherine mounted the scaffold in something of a fugue state, as if she were watching all this happen to someone else. She saw the crowd assembled, heard the irregular footsteps of the half-mad Lady Rochford behind her.

Saw the block, and the masked man with the axe.

She recited the words she had rehearsed—that she had sinned, that her punishment was just, that those assembled should honor and pray for the King. Her lady-in-waiting removed her gown and veil.

She knelt and laid her head on the block as she had practiced. She stretched her arms forward, trembling, waiting for the blow…

…Which never came. She heard the axe clatter to the boards beside her, and turned in confusion to see that the executioner was unable to complete his task, indisposed as he was by an arrow sprouting from his chest.

Now she could hear the crowd shrieking and scattering, and she jerked upright. Three figures had burst onto the green. A masked—man? woman? Katherine couldn’t tell—in well-worn armor over dark brown trews and tunic wielded a curved sword with an agility that defied belief. They seemed to have already accounted for most of the guards, and were now cutting the final two to ribbons with contemptuous ease. A woman with long amber hair and striking green eyes who wore a short-sword slung across her back made arcane gestures with her hands that seemed to channel the crowd out the gates of Tower Green. Strangest of all, the largest wolf she had ever seen bounded up to the scaffold, heading straight for her!

Lady Rochford screamed and passed out on the spot. Katherine couldn’t move for fear—surely the axe was better than this!

Then she heard a gruff voice that seemed to come from…inside her head? : _Fear not, child,:_ said…the wolf? Was it possible? It certainly seemed to be looking directly at her. _:We’re friends.:_

Katherine Howard had never been more confused in her life.

___

She awoke to the sound of a fire crackling. For a moment, she was disoriented—why was her head still attached? Why was there fire, and why was she on a rough pallet on the ground? Was this purgatory?

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and found she was in a clearing in some woods. Next to her lay the still-unconscious form of Lady Rochford, whose hands were wrapped around—a sword? That couldn’t be right. To her far left, two large and exceedingly ugly gray horses munched contentedly on some grain. On the other side of the fire lounged an enormous wolf—the same one, she realized, as the memories of the previous day returned, who had seemed to guard her on the scaffold and…speak directly into her mind?

Most terrifying of all, thought, was the green eyed woman, who was now calmly stoking the fire quite as if nothing had happened.

“Witch!” Katherine squeaked, sitting bolt upright and drawing her blanket around her.

The woman looked up at the sound. “Well, technically speaking,” she said in a kind voice, “I’m not a witch; I’m a Master-level mage of the White Winds school, although I realize those words probably mean less than nothing to you. The important thing is,” she added, “I’m a friend. We all are, as Warrl over here already told you, and Tarma will tell you again when she returns from hunting for our breakfast.”

Katherine shivered. “I don’t understand. I was to be beheaded for adultery and treason against the King, and my lady was to have suffered the same fate for aiding me. Why then am I here? Who are you? Did you rescue us? Why did you defy the King’s justice to do so? Won’t his men come for us?” Her voice rose as she began to panic. “Why can a wolf speak into my mind? And why is my lady holding a sword?”

The witch—no, mage—nodded gravely. “All questions I would have as well, were I in your place. Well, let’s begin with introductions. Since you, Lady Howard, are nobility—and yes, Warrl has already told us something of who you are—I shall begin by noting that I am, at least theoretically, a minor noble as well, although I don’t bother to use its advantages unless I must. I am Lady Kethryveris of House Pheregul—Kethry will do just fine, thank you—and as you have already deduced, I am a sorceress. My oath-sister, who is the masked fighter you saw, is Tarma shena Tale’sedrin, and she is what is called Swordsworn—she is a warrior whose skills belong to her Goddess. Her mindmate, over here, is Warrl. He’s something called a _kyree_ —kind of a hybrid between a wolf and a great cat, fully as intelligent as any human, and probably then some. He has some fairly powerful mind-magic, and since his mouth can’t really form human speech, he simply talks into your head when he wishes.” She gestured to the wolf, who nodded at her gravely. “We three are mercenaries by trade. But that’s who we are, and doesn’t answer anything about why we’re all here, and why you two are still alive.” The sorceress cocked an eyebrow. “That, my dear, all comes down to the sword that is currently Healing your lady and will shortly do the same for you, if you’ll permit it.”

Katherine peered over at the sword in Lady Rochford’s hands, which, if she squinted, did seem to be glowing slightly. “Forgive me, Lady Pheregul—”

“—Kethry, please.”

“—Kethry, then. How can a sword possibly heal?”

“Well, child, that isn’t just any sword. It’s enchanted—how, I cannot tell you, but it’s very powerful indeed. It’s called Need. It’s soul-bonded to me, and as long as that bond lasts, I am under a geas to come to the aid of women in peril within a certain range. Damned inconvenient sometimes, but there you are—and that’s what drew us to you yesterday. In exchange, it gives me the skills of an expert fighter when I require them—and if I were a fighter instead of a mage, it would shield me from any inimical magic. Finally, it will Heal anything short of a death-wound, which is why your lady is currently holding it.”

This was a great deal to take in. “Will Hen—the King’s men find us here?”

Kethry shrugged. “It’s possible, I suppose, but vanishingly unlikely. I’ve cast a spell of illusion around this camp that will make it appear as though we’re simply not here. So far as we’ve been able to determine, your people don’t have a command of the sort of magic that’s common where we come from, so I don’t think anyone will detect the energy I’ve used to set it up. We should be quite safe for as long as it takes to figure out what’s to be done with the two of you, and how the three of us can get ourselves home.”

This was still quite a lot for Katherine to take in. She gulped. “Lady—Kethry—I am grateful for your aid, but I fear I am unworthy of the peril you have placed yourselves in for my sake. I am guilty of adultery against the King, and my punishment was to have been just. I was a wanton and lewd woman before I even came to court, and I did not warn the King of my past when his eye fell upon me. Then when his courtier sought to have me, I did not rebuff him.”

Kethry’s green eyes seemed to bore into her own. “Child, how old are you?”

“I am nineteen, my Lady, quite old enough to be held to account.”

“And how old were you when this… ‘wantonness,’ as you put it, began?

“I was thirteen, Lady, an age when I should have been preparing for a betrothal. But instead I allowed my music teacher to have use of me. It seemed exciting, and I was foolish.”

“Oh, child.” Was it Katherine’s imagination, or did she see a flicker of long-ago pain on the sorceress’s face? “Child, I know it may take a great deal of time for you to accept this, but please believe me—you did nothing wrong.”

Katherine thought the woman might as well have been speaking Coptic. “Of course I did—is it not my duty to guard my virtue, especially for the King?”

  
The sorceress had moved around to Lady Rochford’s side, and now she frowned slightly as she touched the sleeping woman’s forehead. “She needs to be out a while longer, but I think Need’s done what she can for the time being, and it’s past time for you to have some help from her.” She carefully removed the blade from Lady Rochford’s hands, and held it out to Katherine, hilt-first. “Take her, child. I promise she’ll help.”

Katherine reached out hesitantly. When her fingers touched the sword, she was amazed at the sensation—as if her very bones were being gently warmed from the inside out. She hugged the hilt close to her chest, willing it to drive away the guilt and shame that had threatened to overwhelm her a moment earlier.

The sorceress was speaking again. “Listen to me, Lady Howard. Nothing you could have done would justify what happened to you. You were a child. You deserved comfort, love, and understanding, not exploitation. The men that used you under the pretense of giving you those things are to blame. Not you, ever.”

“Which men?” came a harsh voice from behind them. “Tell me whose manhood I need to slice off and shove up his own…” A woman in brown, whom Katherine recognized as the masked fighter, strode into camp carrying a brace of grouse, and broke off as she saw Katherine’s shocked expression. “Well, _jel’endra_ , hello there. I’m Tarma. I’m glad to see you awake, and that that worthless hunk of tin”—she gestured to the sword— “is making up for its earlier behavior.” She snorted. “Storming a public execution? Such piss-poor tactics I never…” She realized rather belatedly that the young woman was still shell-shocked. “Child,” she said tenderly, “I don’t know where you were in your story when I came back, but trust me—Greeneyes here has been in your shoes, and so have I. I know it will be difficult to believe us, but try. That’s all we ask.”

Shocking herself, Katherine fell into Tarma’s arms as she began to sob.

___

A week later, Katherine and Lady Rochford had regained enough strength to put some thought into their next moves. They had sat down to begin to discuss this when Warrl trotted up to camp.

_:Comrades,:_ he said, _:I believe I have found a portal back to our world.:_ He looked kindly toward the two younger women. _:Lady Howard, Lady Rochford—I believe it is time for you to decide whether you wish to remain here or come with us.:_

Katherine had no clue what she wanted. There seemed to be no options for her in Tudor England, but it was also clear she was woefully unsuited for the life of a traveling mercenary. Then, she felt a pull at the back of her mind. It came—no, this was impossible!—from the blade Kethry wore.

“Warrl, Kethry, Tarma,” she said, “I know not how I know this, but Need seems to wish that we all go to this portal Warrl has found. I think we must break camp.”

__

A few hours later, their belongings packed, the odd gaggle of characters arrived at a grassy plot of land deep within the forest. At the center of it lay a large hole.

Staring into the swirling shadows, Katherine could not have said how she knew what to do. She turned to the trio of mercenaries. “Friends,” she said to them, “I cannot begin to thank you. We owe you our lives, and so much more. I wish there was something more I could do.”  
“Nonsense, _jel’endra_ ," chuckled Tarma. You go live your lives, wherever that might be. Just do us one favor—tell a better story to the world than the ones the world told you.”

Kethry smiled warmly. “I don’t think I could have put it better. You’ve a long, hard road ahead of you, I won’t lie. But I’d say you’re equal to it.”

Warrl bowed. _:Go in peace, friends.:_

Katherine grasped Lady Rochford’s hand, and with her free hand reached out—again, she couldn’t say how she knew to do this—to touch Need’s pommel. The sword glowed—shocking pink?—and so did the hole, which was now filled with light.

Before they could lose their nerve, Queen Katherine Howard and Jane Boleyn, Lady Rochford, stepped in—and found themselves deposited into a world more full of sound and light and bustle than they could ever have imagined.

—

Some time later, between performances of the wildly successful West End musical she and her fellow Tudor Queens had developed, Katherine found herself browsing the Sci-Fi/Fantasy section of a used bookstore. When she took out a thick, ocher-colored paperback entitled _The Oathbound_ and perused the back cover, her breath caught in her throat as she read the names “Tarma” and “Kethry.”

Perhaps it was only her imagination, but Katherine could have sworn she heard a harsh chuckle at the back of her mind. “Well, well, _jel’endra._ Seems like you’ve done us proud.” A warmer voice joined in. “And what a story you’ve told. Well done, Lady Howard. Well done.”

**Author's Note:**

> "A few hours later, their belongings packed, the odd gaggle of characters arrived at a grassy plot of land deep within the forest. At the center of it lay a large hole."
> 
> ...it's a plot hole, get it?


End file.
